


Princely Purposes

by Aspireeverything



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Kidnapping, M/M, Modern Royalty, Older Enjolras, Politics, Prince Grantaire, only sometimes though, younger grantaire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 13:38:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3852796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aspireeverything/pseuds/Aspireeverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I never asked to be a prince.” Grantaire mumbles to himself, but he knows that his mother heard by the sound of her loud sigh. </p><p>“We don’t ask for the hands we are dealt. That’s not our job. Our job is to take it and make the best of a situation.”</p><p>“This is a pretty shit situation is you ask me.”</p><p>Or the one in which Grantaire is a rather unhappy prince in a modern kingdom, the Amis are trying to change the world, and it seems as if Grantaire is their missing key to finally implementing some of that change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly have no excuse for this. I wanted to write Grantaire being royalty and this is what I came up with so basically I regret nothing.
> 
> Per usual, all mistakes are mine and if you spot one feel free to let me know!
> 
> Of course, all kudos/comments are appreciated by yours truly.

“Grantaire, stop slouching in your seat.”

Grantaire shifts slightly in the throne, but barely does so to be passable by royalty standards. He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a slow stream. A curl that had fallen in front of his face minutes ago flutters in his field of vision as he breathes out. The fingers resting on the armrest tap away a rhythm as he tunes out whatever it is his mother is saying to him. He lets his head fall to one side as he examines the room around him, but it’s not as if he has to anymore. This room is engrained into his memory ever since he was a small child.

He knows that behind him there are two white doors leading to other parts of the palace. Without counting he knows that there are a total of eight gold chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings and how many bulbs are on each. There’s an old vase to his right towards the main doors that he can recreate the pattern of without looking at it if he so desired. He can tell a person how many paces it takes to get from one end of the room to the other and the exact number of stairs there are that lead from this floor to the next balcony level.

Grantaire looks around the room, thinks, and frowns. Years from now this room will be filled with citizens of this country, all dressed to the nines and looking at him as if he’s their future. As if he’s their golden ticket to making sure this whole kingdom remains sustainable. It sends a horrible chill down his spine. That responsibility it almost too much to bear.

“Are you even listening to me anymore?” Grantaire turns his attention to his mother. She’s wearing a simple dress, her hair tied up in a tight bun, wild curls much like his own tamed and combed down. Grantaire’s mother is fierce, but finds a way to be soft and kind. She looks at him with an unimpressed, perfectly sculpted brow raised and with her arms crossed on her chest. He’s been on the receiving end of that look more times than he can remember.

“Oh yes, of course. Go on, please. I’m on the edge of my obnoxiously ornate seat.” Grantaire takes to picking at a loose thread of his old t-shirt. He refuses to get properly dressed unless absolutely necessary and quite frankly prince training doesn’t fall under that category.

“Do not sass me, young man. You are a prince and you will act as such.” His mother isn’t yelling at him, she doesn’t yell, but rather she sounds annoyed and utterly done with the situation.

“I never asked to be a prince.” Grantaire mumbles to himself, but he knows that his mother heard by the sound of her loud sigh.

“We don’t ask for the hands we are dealt. That’s not our job. Our job is to take it and make the best of a situation.”

“This is a pretty shit situation is you ask me.”

The Queen sighs, rubbing a hand down her tired face. “We have this conversation on an almost weekly basis, aren’t you tired of it yet?”

“I just find it ridiculous that we can’t get with the times and be something other than a monarchy. If anything, a constitutional monarchy is much less oppressive than what we have here. I’m not saying that any form of government is perfect, but this is just straight up awful.”

“I know and you know that I know, but there’s not much we can do about this right now.”

“What if we just became a democracy instead? You and I just take this place by the balls and change it completely.”

“Your father and his side of the family hate that idea so don’t ever let him hear you say that, okay?” She scolds, but she still comes over to him and sits on the arm rest of the throne and runs a loving hand through Grantaire’s hair. “I want change. I really do, but right now it isn’t possible. It’s my job to make you an acceptable prince, but once the crown becomes yours, maybe you’ll be able to create the changes I can’t.”

Grantaire glances up at his mother, ceasing the picking at the edge of his shirt. She looks weary and completely exhausted. She gives him a soft smile and he returns it with one of his own. He blesses every star that he ended up looking much more like his mother than his father. There’s a terrible harshness etched into his father’s features that is the complete opposite of his mother’s large, bright eyes and full smile.

She pats the side of his face, the cool metal of her rings a strange comfort. Grantaire lets out a breath through his nose, finally relenting. “Okay where were we in my ‘How to make Grantaire a proper prince’ lessons?”

His mother laughs lightly, shaking her head down at her handful of a son. “Oh we were up to your favorite part- how to mingle with snooty, uptight guests.” Grantaire lets out a noise of despair, throwing his head back and nearly sliding completely out of his chair while his mother laughs above him.

***

The only sound that fills the expansive dining room is the clinking of utensils against plates. Grantaire picks at his food, not really eating, but just moving the vegetables and over seasoned meat around. He can see his mother throwing glances between him and his father, but he decides not to pay any mind to it. There’s been enough quiet dinners in his lifetime for Grantaire to be affected at all at this point. What actually shocks him is the silence being purposely broken by his father asking a question.

“How are your fencing lessons going, Grantaire?”

Grantaire shakes off the initial shock and stabs a carrot with his fork with more force than strictly necessary before plastering a fake smile on his face and looking up at his father. “Just fine.”

“And piano lessons?” The King isn’t looking at him, too absorbed in the paper laid out beside him. From where Grantaire is, he can see that the article is talking about some radical group that’s been spotted a few towns outside the kingdom.

“I stopped piano lessons, remember?”

The King stops reading for a moment and frowns, but still doesn’t look at Grantaire. “Huh, when did that happen?”

“Last week.” He stabs another carrot onto his fork. “My instructor said something about me being ‘an insufferable as-“

Grantaire’s mother coughs rather loudly across from him, cutting off his sentence. He looks up and she shoots him a look. It doesn’t matter though because his father doesn’t seem to notice or just can’t find it in himself to care. Grantaire stuffs the carrots into his mouth, chews it and raises a brow at his mother.

He wants to open his mouth and say something else, but she stops him short as if she expects him to spew out something problematic. Well, she wouldn’t have been wrong. “I’ve heard that some organization has been causing issues recently. What’s that about?”

The King’s jaw clenches as he aggressively flips the page of the paper, taking his own stab at the vegetables on his plate. “Just the group of _children_ who have decided to stick their noses in business that isn’t theirs.” Grantaire’s father looks up at him for the first time during dinner as if he’s just remembered his presence. “Go to another room and finish your dinner there. Your mother and I have some important issues to talk about that don’t require your being here.”

Grantaire blinks at him in shock for a moment before complying and picking up his dinner plate. There’s one last look he shares with his mother and he leaves the dining room, only being able to catch the last few whispered words before the door shuts behind him.

“ _... They call themselves the Friends of the People.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan casts a look at Grantaire, smiling a small, fond smile and speaks. “You take after her, you know? You both have this fire in your eyes and kindness in your souls, it’s intoxicating really.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some plot in this chapter, but not too much. I just really wanted to establish the Jehan/Grantaire friendship here before things start to snowball in the next chapter.
> 
> Also just for the record, Jehan's opinion on Dickens isn't necessarily my own! (I have a love-hate relationship with Dickens. Mostly hate though.)

_“Breaking News…”_

Grantaire looks up at the television playing in the background. It was turned on hours ago once Grantaire had decided to flop on one of the many couches in the palace to curl up and draw, but now he grabs the long forgotten remote and turns the volume up.

“ _As documented a few weeks ago, the radical group called the Friends of the People were spotted multiple times in towns just outside of the kingdom. Their purposes were unknown until a few days ago when politician Félix Tholomyès was chased out of his position…”_

It was weeks ago when his father had kicked him out of the dining room to chat with his mother about matters that didn’t involve him, but after that night the group’s name was constantly whispered within the dark corners of the palace. Even the work staff seemed to be curious about the Friends’ intentions, but everything had been unclear until a few days ago when the news had blown up with Tholomyès resignation from office in the neighboring country.

So what’s being spoken about on the screen isn’t new to Grantaire or to anyone for that matter. From what Grantaire has gathered, the Friends of the People seem to be some sort of vigilante group that strives for equality by use of political activism. Their tactics include gathering information from politician’s dissenters and leaking every awful, juicy detail surrounding the wrongs certain politicians have committed towards the people they are supposed to be governing. They strive for change and more often than not they are successful. The work for the betterment of the people and for right now, they have that support.

The members of the group openly show their faces in public, even go as far as to confirm that it’s them on their online sites, but never have their names been revealed. The television screen flashes candid, far away photos of each known member, the only captions being single letters as the news reporter continues speaking. The photo changes from one of a tall, dark skinned man wearing glasses to one of another tall man, but this one is blond and fair skinned. The man wears a red hoodie, the hood pulled up and concealing some of his blond curls, but not the fierce expression on his face. It’s the same photo that this news network shows of the man simply known as ‘ _E_ ’, but it never fails to make the breath in Grantaire’s throat catch.

_“The group’s leader has been spotted inside the kingdom, but as of right now the group has not engaged in any alarming activities. Even so, we warn citizens to be wary of this group…”_

“I don’t understand why the media wants us to fear them so much. They don’t seem to be violent and I’ve certainly never heard of them randomly attacking innocent civilians.” Grantaire says to no one in particular as he bites the tip of his pencil.

The voice that answers behind him nearly makes him fall off the couch and onto the hideously carpeted floor. “You know the media. Always blowing things out of proportion just for the sake of receiving views and scaring the people. It’s their specialty, really.”

“Jesus fuck, Jehan.” Grantaire clasps his chest, breathing heavily from the sudden fear induced by surprise. The small tutor leans against the threshold of the doorway, arms folded across their chest. A small smirk plays on their lips as they look at Grantaire with a not so hidden amusement. “When did you get here?”

“Only a few minutes ago.” Jehan walks into the room and turns off the television. “Did you know that you’re half an hour late to your English lesson?” They sit down beside Grantaire, hands folded politely on top of their lap, spine pin straight. “I didn’t find you sooner because I was having a nice little chat with the Queen. A lovely lady she is.” They pause as if the next words have to be especially contemplated before they are spoken. Jehan casts a look at Grantaire, smiling a small, fond smile and speaks. “You take after her, you know? You both have this fire in your eyes and kindness in your souls, it’s intoxicating really.”

Grantaire studies Jehan for a moment, taking in their small stature and freckly face and strawberry blond hair. He appreciates the way Jehan speaks, the way they are able to find beauty in all things, even in a person such as Grantaire who can’t find the beauty in himself or in people like his father. Grantaire smiles back, lightly shoving Jehan with one hand. “You’re such a sap.”

“Maybe.” Jehan laughs, shoving Grantaire right back with a strength hidden within the small, seemingly frail body. “But I’m not lying. I see so much of her in you that it baffles me every time I’m fortunate enough to be in her presence and in your own. Never in my years have I been lucky enough to be connected to two amazing people, destined for magnanimous things.”

If it were anyone else other than Jehan, perhaps Grantaire would think they were lying in order to flatter him because of his title, but this _is_ Jehan. Sweet, trustworthy, genuine Jehan who speaks from the heart without any regret. It sends a spark of warmth down his spine, but he’s never been one to be good with positive, kind words so he responds in a way that he always does. “You’re twenty, not two hundred, my dear poet. You don’t have _that_ many years behind you. And trust me when I say that I’m not that amazing. My mother is, but I know for a fact that I am not.”

Jehan looks at Grantaire with the same face they always do when Grantaire decides to slip into his usual self-deprecating manner. It’s a look that says they understand, but are an angel enough to not bring it up to be dealt with and that Grantaire is forever thankful for. Instead of pushing the subject, Jehan moves on, shifting on the couch to sit in a more comfortable position.

“Why don’t we just skip today’s lesson? Dickens bores me to death anyways. I could just tell you about the time I almost got captured by a band of thieves in the forest near the outer corner of the kingdom.” Jehan takes Grantaire’s hand in their own, the warmth radiating off Jehan’s skin a comfort to Grantaire as he moves to lay his head on their shoulder.

It’s not unusual for them sit like this and speak to one another as friends, as equals. Grantaire has never seen them as anything but equals. His mother the exact same way. She has developed a special relationship with each person in the palace and is often found talking to one of them, listening to tales about people she has never met and places and times she could only ever imagine living in. His father on the other hand, chooses not to see the people that work in the palace as equals. Doesn’t see the citizens they rule over as equals.  

It’s always a thought that fills Grantaire’s body with disgust, but he pushes it down and focuses on the story Jehan recounts, letting his mind wander far away from where he is and who he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were some lovely comments on the last chapter I posted and I genuinely appreciate them! It made me very happy that people are just as excited about this fic as I am. 
> 
> The next chapter will very likely be up soon and until then I hope you all enjoyed this short one!

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a chaptered fic! The first chaptered fic I have ever written actually. I'm unsure at the current moment how long this is going to be, but I'm looking at around the 10-15 chapter mark. That is always open to change though if I feel like I need it to be less or even possibly more! 
> 
> I have this story (kinda) lined up how I want it to go so we'll take it from there. 
> 
> My original plan was to write all of it and post it all at once, but I decided against that because I was waaaay too excited to post this little chapter first. 
> 
> I hope this intrigued you all a little bit and that you'll stick around to read the next chapter that will be uploaded soon!!


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